The Years Pass By
by MrsWalterBlythe
Summary: Kirsten Larson is now grown up and married. Being cook for a nearby family when her sailor husband is away, she finds it hard to look after twin sons and find time to keep up Swedish traditions. But then a visit and a new arrival change everything...
1. Britta's Letter

"Victor!" Kirsten Roland (_nee _Larson) called out jubilantly to her husband. The young wife flew down through the large orchard, in a most unladylike respect.

At twenty-one Kirsten had become a keen Minnesotan at heart, though she still remembered and put to practice the old Swedish traditions Mama had taught her. She had married an American sailor, Victor Roland, four years ago and now was the mother of his three year old twin sons. Though Kirsten had no especial passion for Victor when she had agreed to marry him, the two were blissfully happy now, in their little log cabin by the bay.

The young girl was heartbroken when she had heard they would be moving a distance away from the old farm and even Maryville, but she had come to love her new home. And almost every month she, Victor and the boys would hitch up the wagon and make the twenty five mile trip - when Victor was not away on a voyage, which was often. They would visit Morfar and Mormor, as Kirsten's parents were called by their grandchildren by way of carrying on the Swedish ways, Uncle Lars and Aunt Lisbeth – for the happy couple were married now – and their pretty daughter Inger, whom the boys loved greatly, and Kirsten's Uncle Olav and Aunt Inger.

Also waiting for them was the latest news of "the children's" – in other words Peter Larson and his older cousin Anna's – courtship. This was a great source of interest in the family, for the cousins' relationship was always taking a turn. Twelve year old little Britta loved to see her nephew, but also was an expert on her brother's latest goings-on. The letter Kirsten had in her hand proved _that._

Life as a sailor's wife was an interesting one. When Victor was on a voyage, Kirsten took up her job of being the cook of the nearby Alfred family, which she enjoyed heartily, though it could be sometimes tough. Cooking that one big meal a day in itself could be stressful, working in that warm, stuffy kitchen. And she had her two sons as well, to look after. They sat on the big kitchen chair for the four hours Mama worked each morning, and sometimes got restless and caused mischief. "Just two more years until they will be old enough for school," Kirsten repeated again and again. It would be easier then.

The twins continued to prove wrong the theory that twins were alike, for two less similar children could not be found. Victor, named for Papa of course, was really a handsome little chap, with straight reddish-brown hair almost covering those black, almond shaped eyes of his father's. His skin was often found to be pink and sunburned, though, due to many pleasant larks in their marvelous orchard. Steven, named for Morfar, was much like Mama, with corn blond, wavy hair, and grey-green eyes. He had a rather scrawny face, covered with freckles, and inherited his Mama's spirit. They were good lads; and were brilliant friends with the Alfred children. A-times they might play with them whilst Kirsten was cooking.

After work came play, and Kirsten, Vick (as he was called by his father, "He ain't alf the size a me, so why shouldn't his name be's well?" jolly Papa had demanded) and Steven had many splendid afternoons on the shore, or in the orchard, or in the cosy log cabin affectionately known as "Apple Blossom", for in the spring the aforesaid flowers bloomed deliciously, forming a beautiful alley down the stone path to the door.

Currently, on this glorious May day, Kirsten was enjoying the rare feeling of having Victor at home for a few weeks. She wasn't going to be cooking at the Alfred's; Victor had brought home enough wages to settle that. A letter from Maryville had now brightened the prospect of the days ahead. Kirsten came, gasping, to a halt, where, in the orchard, Victor was showing Steven and little Vick how to behave around their hens. The boys were only just taller than them; and approaching them was a rather frightening prospect.

"Oh – Victor - dear me! Look - at this!" Kirsten thrust a letter written in a familiar childish hand into her husband's hand.

"Why, if it isn't from our own little Britta! Kirsten, you look flustered! What ails you so?" said Victor, raising his eyebrows, surprised.

"Peter – has proposed – and she's – accepted!" gasped Kirsten impatiently. Her English was perfected and fluent now, but she still kept a rather thick accent.

"Who's accepted? Britta? His _sister_!" Victor's eyebrows rose even higher on his forehead.

"No – why – Anna, of course!"

***

"And him only seventeen," Mrs Georgina Alfred shook her head over her spice bread – Kirsten's special recipe - at the prospect. "'tleast it is better that the girl is older rather than younger than him – that would be too young for her, now. The folk's wouldn't want it."

"Anna is nineteen, Georgina," Kirsten sighed, and dusted some flour from her hands. "Though – I suppose I was the same age as Peter when I was _married_, now. They aren't to be married for at least a couple of years yet. But what I am worried about is if it will break off, for Anna and Peter are great ones for stubbornness, and if an argument breaks out…"

"Well, dearie, we'll just have to wait and see. They've plenty a time yet." Mrs Alfred concluded. And apparently that settled the matter.


	2. Grattis på födelsedagen!

"_Sov i ro, slumra in,_

_i bädden så fin_ …" Kirsten sang gently, leaning over her sons' faces so that loose strands of her yellow hair tickled their calm, motionless faces. As she kissed each on their soft foreheads, she finished the old Swedish lullaby she loved so well. They were asleep now.

Creeping soundlessly across the matted floor of the little attic room in which the boys slept, Kirsten lowered the flame on the gas lamp she carried in her hand. Smiling, she trod down the short case of wooden steps to the downstairs room. Victor was sitting at the simply carpentered table, which reposed near the left side of the cosy space.

"What ho, my lass! Are my little alf size lads all tucked up in bed by their Ma?" was Victor's hearty greeting. Kirsten replied, assuring him that his "alf size lads" were happily asleep upstairs.

Spotting the local _News_ in his hand, queried Kirsten, "What tidings does your paper bring?"

"Good ones, I am happy to say, my wife," Victor grinned as he ran his fingers through his thick brown beard, "'The end of war; the sign of peace' _is _definitelythe end; no worries."

Kirsten sighed in relief. Though that that Civil War the Americans had been fighting had been far-off and unbeknownst to the Larson family – Swedish as they were – it made Kirsten feel uncomfortable and icy inside, thinking of young men fighting like that. A few months ago a sign of peace had been made, but people dared not believe it until true word came. Now it had come Kirsten could enjoy the summer ahead with a _truly_ light heart.

***

The days after this whizzed past in one happy splendor - frolics in the woods picking berries; playing on the shore; nights by the fire telling stories – until one morning in June that stood out of them all.

"Mama!" it was Steven.

"Mama!" Vick's little voice this time.

Suddenly, Kirsten woke with a start, finally registering that someone was calling her. Two faces; a scrawny freckled and a pink sunburned; were staring at her with wide eyes. She blinked. Where was she? What day was it? Then, Kirsten recalled that last night she had stayed up reading another of Mama's special Swedish recipes, puzzling out how she could get hold of all the ingredients. Victor had been long gone in bed when Kirsten had closed her eyes and fallen soundly asleep, curled up in the wooden kitchen chair with a cosy shawl wrapped around her.

The day – she knew it was June – ah! Yesterday had been the seventh. So today must be –

"_Happy Birthday to you,_

_Happy Birthday to you,_

_Happy birthday dear –"_

At this point there was a confused mixture of "_Mama_" and "_Kirsten_", then it finished with –

"_Happy Birthday to you!"_

Now Kirsten was wide awake! Of course it was June the eighth! How she had forgotten her own birthday she did not know, but right away after the jolly chorus, her two be-nightgowned boys had flung themselves onto her lap, distracting her from everything. After she had received her special bear hugs, Victor kissed her on the cheek, and whispered something for his wife alone to hear. Kirsten smiled.

After breakfast, Victor prepared the wagon, and they all bundled up on the front seat with two fleece blankets and a light lunch for later. Kirsten thought it was the best birthday present in the world. They would be staying with Kirsten's beloved family for the next few days, and in but a few hours they would be with them. Their friendly, smiling faces; all the latest updates from Britta. It was a beautiful, clear day, and the air was crisp and cool on their faces as they drove along. There had been frost last night – just enough to make the grass crunch beneath them as the wooden wheels turned on top of it. And even a dear little brook twisted and turned beside the country lane they rode on.

In what seemed like no time at all, they had passed Maryville and were going by some very familiar green pastures. Suddenly, a big, homely farmhouse was in sight; and Kirsten would have sworn she had seen Britta's cheeky little face peering out at them from one of the windows. But then, in a flurry of golden braids, the face disappeared.

"Hello, home," Kirsten murmered.

Soon enough, another pleasure was granted her. Aunt Inger and Uncle Olav, Lars' family and Anna had all gathered at Kirsten's parent's farm, to add to the usual huddle of Mama, Papa, Peter and Britta. All was a blur of surprise and joy; Vick and Steven gave everyone their fair share of trademark bear hugs, Victor shook hands with the men and smiled at and kissed the women, and Kirsten stood dumbly, speechless, smiling.

"It's good to have you home, my daughter," Mama whispered. She sqeezed Kirsten's hand, only to be hurried out of the way by Peter and Lars, excaiming-

"Grattis på födelsedagen! Many happy returns for the day!" as they congratulated her, in the excitement using their old, though dearest, language.

Anna and Lisbeth gave their mother and aunt a rest for once, and cooked a delicious stew for everyone, but nobody took notice of it, of course.

"Why, Anna – you are beginning to become quite a faithful little cook!" was one of the many things Kirsten Roland, now twenty two, noticed had changed.

The meal was a success – and afterwards, they all gathered around the fire. Steven, little Vick and Inger went off with Aunt Britta to where cosy beds and sweet dreams awaited, but the remaining ten stayed to greet a jolly evening - all together again. Many admirings of Anna's simple but beautiful ring were had; Lars was enticed into one of his wonderful stories; even Mama joined in, laughing gaily at the festivities.

But Kirsten excused herself, too gloriously content to trust herself any longer. Only one thing could she do in her happy frenzy. She picked up the pen and dipped it into the ink.

***

_June the 8th, 1867_

_Dear Georgina,_

***

A/N: Okey doke. Here goes. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS except for Victor, little Vick, Steven and little Inger. The rest were created by Janet Shaw - got that? And I did not make up the song either - found it on the net.

ANYWAY, please do review my story, it is really a big credit to me. And, I promise you, someday when I am rich and famous I will pay you back those three minutes you took.

This chapter is dedicated to AmericanGirlAnne, my only one reviewer (so far) on this fic. Hi, Libby!


	3. An Adventure

_A/N: Just wanted to say, before you read this and get confused, the Inger in this chapter is Inger, Lars and Lisbeth's daughter. Aunt Inger will be referred to as Aunt Inger, or, when Inger speaks, Mormor. I wrote this chappie because I wanted to have something with the children, even if they are young. I think the twins are about four here – sometime in between chapter one and two they had a birthday. Enjoy! ___

_***_

A thin, girlish figure was strutting—of course, she wouldn't have called it strutting, but in prose it really was—down a dusty, hot lane. She was about to pass a rickety, red-gabled farmstead when a shrill, boyish cry filled her ears and made her shiver from golden head to white-booted toes.

"Inger!" called the same voice.

"Inger _Lah-_son!" called a similar, yet distinctly different voice. The little girl, who was indeed that Inger, spun around on the aforesaid speckless, white-booted feet. The two Roland boys stood, hair a-frizz and panty-hose bedraggled, to the side of the road, red-faced and laughing.

"We didden alf give you a fright!" Victor said between spasms. Inger coloured, but turned her nose up high. Victor's twin, Steven, joined in-

"Hey, Miss Hoity-toity!"—with the language he had indulged in learning from the Alfred clan.

"Well, you, _little_ Victor Roland, and _you_, silly Stevie-boy," Inger exclaimed, remembering that her purpose in coming would be good defense, "_Maybe_ you don't want to go berry-ing with me—_maybe_ you don't want inny huckle-bry's at all!"

Glimpsing the flash of their cousin's triumphant glare, the two young boys backed off. Besides, that basket she had would hold and _awful_ lot of "huckle-bry's", and there _were_ such a jolly amount on the generous hedges lining Morfar's fields! But Steven still had some spunk left to share, and let off a long, low whistle. Although it was mainly to show off this new, impressive talent, his unfortunate brother felt that whistle had a _need_ for words alongside.

"Ho—ho—ho!" was Vick's idea of accompaniment. Then, meekly he whispered, "_Not our Mama." _

Luckily, for the sake of the boy's flesh, the speech was not heard, and their day was saved. Their older cousin's skin returned to the milky-pale, she sighed, and told the twins to hurry along.

***

A "jollier" day never was had, despite the contradictory beginning. When Aunts Anna and Britta—who were great chums—went looking for the boys when Kirsten noticed they were missing—Aunt Lisbeth had known where Inger was, but the three cousins had never informed anyone else—they found the three sitting on three mossy stones, forming a triangle, and resting their sleepy heads on their hands. They had slowly trudged away, content at knowing their niece and nephews' hide-out.

"Inger," little Victor sighed, "you do know a jolly day out!"

It had been high past noon, their small tummies had been pleading and the only solution their youthful minds had come to was – huckleberries. Needless to say, huckleberries it had been! And added Victor –

"Stevie, how my stomach is churning awf'ly– ah – I – let's find some cosy hollow somewhere…let's settle – like the Indians do!"

Steven exhaled thrillingly – perhaps in failing attempt of one of his whistles, but we shall never know. "A real Indian camp-out – I suppose no tepees, but we could have a chief and – and –"

"I am chief!" Victor jumped at the chance, "Besides, I'm taller – I said it first – we all know no chiefs are tow-haired like you, Stevie!"

Steven surrendered; but not after a scornful glare was given.

"Well – Inger's princess – our captive from another tribe, then."

Inger had not spoken for a while; after staring up at the clear blue sky for a while, she came back down to the Minnesota woods. She had been wishing they could just go back to the friendly homestead – not play this rascally, boyish game. But, oh – Stevie was looking at her so fondly out of those swampy grey-green eyes; she did like it when he did that; yes, she would be that princess of his.

***

The Minnesota woods are one of those places that change, oh-so slightly, every moment of the day, so that when you depart them, and return a few months later, they are a new place to you—new paths, new challenges and beauties all over the place. The wood-people, as they sometimes call themselves, are the only ones, though many are oblivious and ignorant to it, that are entrusted to its ever-shifting secrets; the whispers, the cries of the forest do not just mean the rustle of a leaf or the song of a singing-bird to them. The forest is talking--warning them.

Others call these the _Sioux._

Inger Larson wakened to the murmur of the nearby stream, and the soft padding of quick footsteps. She turned, tiredly, over, and closed her eyes again. _In a flash, she shot up and yelled,_

"_STEVIE!"_

No-one, not even she would ever know why this name had come to her lips so naturally. Nor did most care—until afterwards—

Steven blinked wearily, and, not thinking, he crawled on hands and knees to the entrance of the cave. _Suddenly, he gasped._ He was face to face with a looming figure, with two thick, black braids of hair hanging down around a tough face and deep, black eyes! Stevie's own eyes doubled in size as he scrambled, weak with shock, backwards and onto his sleeping and completely unknowing brother's feet. Facing Inger, sick with four year old fright, he whispered hoarsely; "It's an Indy. An Indy, quick!"

"Quick what? What to do?"

"Nothing. We can't, can we?" Stevie said, only realizing it as he uttered it. Inger turned despairingly to (still sleeping) Victor.

"Wake up, Vick Roland! There's an Indy outside!"

"A Nindy?"

"Yes! An Indy! What do we do?"

"Go to sleep and ignore it?" Victor suggested hopefully.

"_What?_"

"Maybe I _am_ awf'ly stupid, _and_ I haven't the _teeniest_ idea what a Nindy is, but I'm s'jestin if we just leave it be, it'll get tie-yud of that game and _go."_

"_Victor, the Indy might come in and GET us with his spee-ya!"_

"Aha! If you mean an Indy-_un_…"

While all this was being thrown back and forth, Steven had slipped quietly away. When the other two realized his absence, Inger—though not without hassle—convinced Vick to venture out. And a strange sight met their bewildered eyes.

On one mossy stone sat Steven, alright—well and alive—_and smiling._ To add to that—he was smiling understandingly at a picture being drawn in the dust—_and drawing that picture with a stray stick in the dust was the Indian woman. _When Indian-woman happened to glance up to find yet another two quaking children—Inger paler than milky-pale and Victor looking sick and feverish with fright—at first she looked troubled. And then—she smiled as if one enlightened, turned her head to Steven, nodded, turned to the other two, nodded, and said something in a tongue they did not know.

Steven smiled, as if he understood.

"Mm." said Indian-woman, shortly. She looked up, beckoned, and started drawing something else in the dust. As it developed, it started looking like one of those "Indy tepees". In fact, it was—and when Indian-woman had finished, she looked up through her tough-skinned, earnest face and jabbed calm Steven—then the more unsure Inger, and lastly Victor, in the chest with a long, careworn pointed finger. She gave then some time to think over this; eventually, she pointed with the same finger to her simple piece of art in the dust.

"She—is going to take us back to our home," Steven translated certainly, enraptured at the thought.

"Mm. Mm." agreed Indian-woman, as she stood up and took his hand.

After Stevie gave them and encouraging beckon, Vick and Inger trailed uncertainly, yet thankfully behind.

_What an awf'l swirly feeling I have in my head, _thought Victor, _but this Indy-girl's takin' us home. I'll rest, then. I'll be right's punch tomorra. _

All this time, Indian-woman was thinking about how the little blond boy reminded her so much of someone she had once known, a long time ago…

***

_A/N: Can you guess who?_

_I'm sorry this story has taken a long time for something to happen in it. (And a long time for me to update with this chapter! *glances round with guilty face*)_


	4. With Mrs Georgina

Mrs Georgina Alfred sighed as she leaned back wearily on the pudgy, over-stuffed armchair. To her horror, in this moment of quiet, she was realising how much she had in common with this particular chair—she was pudgy, alright, and a failure—and to add to this, every day now was "over-stuffed" with happenings, what with comings and goings, handling her family, ditto, ditto. She delighted in her children, when they were no work—but what she delighted in even more was the Roland family. They were in the bud of family life—and they were so blissful always! Now, her thoughts diverted back to the armchair—_I'm an antique, too! _Mrs Georgina chuckled at her little pun as her eyes wistfully scanned the scene outside the crystal-clear window; her two littlest girls were lying on the grass, carefree and brimming with youth. A plain-looking boy of about twelve walked around them, hurrying inside with the mail.

"It's for you, Ma-" the Alfred boy announced after bursting recklessly through the door with something long and thin in hand. In the middle of saying this, he broke into a nasty fit of coughing—he spluttered and choked for a long moment, before it reluctantly ceased. After waiting patiently for this to pass, though worrying that she really should get that bay doctor down there, his mother answered him fondly.

"Thank you kindly, Charley." Picking up the contents of the worn, brown envelope, Mrs Georgina squinted intensely through her eye-glasses as she started to read.

_June the 8th, 1867_

_Dear Georgina,_

_I hope this letter finds you 'well and bustling', as your dear daughter Miss Min would say of you. Writing is all I can seem to do on this night, on which I am so happy. My family—all of which I am sure you know more than me, for all my lectures—are all downstairs this second, laughing and merry-making relentlessly. They do jump at any chance for a celebration—even when their honorary guest departs them (I being that guest). In happiness, I have always been a helpless and dumb creature. Tonight, I am experiencing this worst I ever have—I am thrilled to the fingertips with my gratitude. My hands shake as I write. In my head, a firm decision suddenly has happened into existence. Victor does not know; maybe he suspects, but does not wish to utter it aloud lest it be wrong and assuming. I am nearly certain he wants the same decision, too. _

_Alright—you must wait in suspense no longer to discover my idea. I know you shall be disappointed in me—for, my dear, do not mind me saying that you seem to have grown a particular interest in us, the Rolands, and your children too. My boys do seem to get along so well with Min, and Miss Lilian—and they do so adore that tall Master Charley of yours. Ugh…I feel inclined to ask for the baby's health, and then perhaps ramble on for a couple of paragraphs for all of my family's health. Alas, alack—no. Out must come this decision, and then this letter must be on its way to you. Alright. And so._

_I must give up my work at your house. We must sell Apple Blossom. Whatever the cost, I _must_ live back in Maryville._

_There, out it is. Crazily dramatic as it must seem in those three sentences, really it all fits perfectly. What about Victor's sailing job? We'll find a way around it. He can drive down to Duluth bay every month just as easily as we drive up here to Maryville each month. Do not pester me with arguments, for I have a reason to snub you with every time, Mrs Georgina. Truly, you need to understand my reasons before it happens. With Lisbeth's new little one well on its way, and our own hope between Victor and I for this November, family is dearer and needed nearer than ever. Victor _has_ no real family—not real family as I know it, like between us and the boys, or like with Mama and Papa, my brothers and Britta and myself. He has been _accepted_ with the Larsons, and that is more important over anything else._

_Well, I must haste—for I think they have missed me at last!—but please, Georgina, please let yourself understand. As they say in good old Sweden, _

_A__d__j__ö__´ så lä´nge, or _

_So long. _

_Kirsten Roland _

***

**A/N: Apologies for a short chapter! Originally, chapers 4 & 5 were meant to be all one chapter, but then so much was happening in it that it got so confusing I had to split it up! **

**Thanks to all my reviewers! I would so much love some more! :)**

**And to those who haven't clicked, this is the letter Kirsten starts to write in chapter 2!**

**Tell me what you think ;)**

**MrsWalterBlythe**


	5. Miscellaneous

Word that four year old Victor Roland was shockingly ill with scarlet fever spread almost as fast around the town of Maryville as the disease did itself. The Doctor was sent for numerous times, but the poor local Doctor Jones was taken to his bed with it himself, with his busybody Missus hysterically trying to keep him home until every inch of his body was healed, despite her husbands' trusting patients' pleads.

With the interesting, juicy news of the contagious fever and who had it, and how they had got it, and how bad it was, the towns' gossips never caught ear of another, much more touching story, which had happened the morning just before Vick had become so sick. Four lone figures, one very out of place on the road she now trod on, had stepped lightly up the dusty, dirt road.

Steven smiled and briefly nodded to Indian-woman, who had calmly smiled, nodded back, and come to an abrupt halt, steps away from the homestead's timber fence. She would go no further. Indian-woman knew exactly when she had to stop. Watching those three little white children sprint up to that door—seeing it open into the house—glimpsing them disappearing inside, and being greeted by an anxious crowd of women, tormented with worry—and staring, motionless, at the closing door—were the hardest moments of the lonely Sioux's life. But then—the one lady closing the door happened to glance absently up, and back down to the latch—and up again. She began re-opening the door, slowly, slowly. For several seconds, they shared a glance, eye to eye—they had to be sure. Then—

"_Singing Bird,_" mouthed the lady.

Indian-woman observed the lady. Corn-blond hair was in one thick braid wrapped around her head, and swampy grey-green eyes sparkled. _Yes._

"Kirsten." whispered Singing Bird, certain.

They met at the gate, and clasped hands, brown and worn to white and slender. In awe, studying each others familiar faces, the two women shared a seemingly endless, friend-to-friend moment, in which everything around them dispersed into an un-important oblivion. Singing Bird had tears in her eyes--for she had never forgotten her friend. And Kirsten, though she, through many years of change, had failed to recall her long-lost chum now and then, could see everything now--the two little girls they had been, with their fanciful gift-giving game--adventurous, selfless Singing Bird and sweet, practical Kirsten.

Seemingly, the two had walked away to the woods, but no-one would ever know, or ask, what else went on afterwards. For when Kirsten returned home--alone--she discovered her son, pale and delirious with fever, and all thoughts of the day's old joyousness scattered in a tumultuous frenzy.

The weeks to come were dim with worry around Maryville. At the Larson homestead, Kirsten and Victor Roland went around with absent looks, almost frightening their--luckily healthy--son and niece. Lisbeth helped Kirsten, nursing little Victor day and night. Aunts Britta and Anna read the nonchalant boy stories and sang cheery songs about the house, attempting a break through the dull, weary atmosphere that hung persistently wherever you went.

"Mistress Roland, Mr. Roland sir, I plead you to prepare yourselves for the worst," Doctor Weston—he had had to be fetched from the next village along--said one night.

_So it's really that bad_, thought an exhausted Mormor--though she didn't say so aloud. Though she did say;

"Lisbeth dear, you really shouldn't work so much. Let someone else watch over the boy--you really do look too pale."

***

But then--one glorious morning after a week of struggle, Doctor Jones—let out by his satisfied wife--announced, grey and wan and sheepish, that there was no more danger. Apparently, there never had been. But the whole clan of Larsons and Rolands were too delighted to criticise poor old Doctor Weston.

"Thank-" here Lisbeth stopped hastily to cough-- "Thank God."

"I will send my colleague, a young man called Mr. Stewart, over to check on the lad. He has just moved back to Maryville after many years away. He grew up here as a boy, you know. Besides, Mistress Roland, I advise you not to return to your home for a week or so _at least_, until you are sure this little one's fully recovered."

Kirsten wanted to bend over her little, thin son--hold him close to her heart. But first, she kissed the Doctor quickly and sweetly on the cheek--"Thank you," she said plainly and directly. And so it was that Jones strode home with a smile on his face.

In a few days, Vick was sitting up for a bite and sup. After a week, he was laughing and joking with his brother and cousin, and that very same day, he took his first walk downstairs on his own. When the men came back from the fields, they found him in the kitchen, standing on a stool next to his mother, and Aunts Anna and Britta, solemnly observing their culinary skills.

"Mamas _need_ dough to live, don't they, Uncle?" he had queried gravely.

_Lisbeth should be here to see this, _Lars inwardly sighed as he smiled at his nephew's speech. Soon after Victor had been assured he would recover, the doctor had discreetly hinted that Lars' wife should go home, and stay there, while she still had enough energy to make the trip. It would not be long now, surely, until he had a new little one to father and cuddle and care for!

***

A few relaxing days later, Anna Larson was sitting at the window seat in the upstairs hallway of her Uncle Steven Larson's, and Peter's father's, house. She held two knitting needles in her hand, attempting to create some little baby garment, though as yet she did not know what it was, or whether it would ever be finished. Anna's mind wandered away, hard as she was trying not to let it, as she stared out the large bay window. Absently, she registered a tall, dark man walking across the road outside. Her heart skipped a beat, he reminded her of someone.

Yes, that boy who the fifteen year old Lars had befriended, who Peter and all the Maryville boys used to want to be like. Anna slowly remembered. It had been a hard winter—the one when her cousins' cabin had been burnt down. He and Kirsten hadn't taken to one another to begin with…yet seven years later people were expecting them to make a match of it! What was the name? Something common. For a while, Anna herself had hidden a girlish adoration of him, with his tall, lanky looks and midnight curls. John was his name! John something-or-other. The house she was sitting in had once belonged to his family. When they had left and the Larson family moved in, no-one saw them for half a decade!

But John was bound to turn up again, Anna thought, and he did. He taught in Maryville for two years, and that's when he picked up Kirsten Larson. How Anna had envied Kirsten when he had loved her that short while! But then, Kirsten jilted him when he said he was setting up a medical practice in Deerwood, many miles away. Anna was angry at her cousin for jilting _John_—but this was her chance. Life was good again, for a month while John did not have a "girl" of his own. Possibility was spread out all the way to the horizon! And then he _did_ go to his practice in Deerwood, and Anna was a loner again.

Of course, after a while, Victor Roland came along and fell full head-over-heels for Kirsten. She accepted his proposal, still depressed and muddled up after John. They married and moved away to Duluth, and that was the end of that.

Eventually, Anna learned to love her cousin again, knowing she would never purposefully have hurt her, despite everything. It was never _love _her heart had felt for John. She had just _wanted_ him, Anna tried to tell herself. Anna had been so flattered when Peter declared he had always loved her, four years later. Now she loved Peter. She did. _She did, she did, she did, _Anna repeated to herself.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, bringing herself back to the present. Anna noticed a red mark on her hand. She had been so lost in her daydream that she hadn't felt the needle's sharp point resting there through it! Anna guiltily rearranged the yarn and started knitting again, pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind.

Alas, they crept back again. _What had triggered all this?_ Anna thought wondrously. The man! She glanced through the glass. He had been a tiny toy model in the distance, but now he approached her timber fence. Very slowly, he placed his hand on the gate…stayed there a very long time. Anna looked away, but the image stuck. How could she have been reminded of John? This being was more handsome, and dark, and curly than she had even_ thought _John to be. She, Anna, with her rose-tinted spectacles! She thought of Peter, and tried to hand over her heart to him.

But there was always a dark, brooding figure lingering behind him.

She thought of John, and smiled.

Suddenly, she sprung up, and cried—

"What am I _doing_?"


	6. Do I know you from somewhere?

"John!" was the first thing she gasped after she stumbled to open the Larson's door - almost before the first brisk knock sounded.

The man, tall and dark and brooding, halted immediately, in plain, honest surprise. He had his hand still raised mid-air, and his mouth had started to open, expecting to talk. For a moment, he frowned, as if he was sending bait to his brain, fishing for an answer to an unknown query. Then he simply shook his head and uttered quite normally for someone so muddled -

"I am Dr. J. Stewart. I have come to check on the little master, Victor Roland. I – I am terribly sorry, but – do I know you from somewhere?"

Anna opened her mouth, then shut it, dumbfounded. She nearly trembled with horror about what her heart might have said that moment, had her brain not come to the rescue.

_At least us Larsons have some good God-given sense, and that's what I'm glad for, _thought poor Anna.

"No – no, I am sorry, Dr.. Per – perhaps you are mistaking me for someone." -aloud. "The – well, Victor is in the next room. Everyone else is out." So, blind to a dark secret being held away from him, John Stewart followed Anna Larson through the farmhouse, and went about his check-over of this pretty little woman's nephew in an every-day fashion. Here and there, he dropped a cunning comment, then so did Anna – and, so, they conversed for a quarter of an hour or so.

"_Hmm…hmm…_of what relation are you to this little rascal? Oh, I see, you're his aunt. He's your cousin's son? Well now. I must say there are no young ones in my family. This lad has a twin brother? Four years old? Another on the way…what a handful. You say you have a niece as well? Inger. A good name that. Rings a bell…anyhow…"

"It's common enough," Anna added hurriedly, biting her lip and cursing herself inwardly for saying the name. She _had _become a fraction carried away…though the Larson pride would not let herself admit how in awe she was of this new, older, John who seemed so changed and wise. Anna had been drinking in his movements…John's swift, gentle wipe of his hand against Victor's brow, John's thoughtful, hesitant lips moving to shape the words he spoke, John's midnight curls bouncing, as he smoothly turned his good-looking face to glimpse at her, as if he knew he was displaying a work of beauty to her. It was John, no question about it – _the_ John, John to the very fingertips.

Meanwhile, thought John; _What a spunky, pretty little lassie! I bet she has the gentlemen after _her._ That way of speaking to you as if all is an enchanted secret between you and her…_

"What brought you back to the Minnesota prairies, then, Jo – Dr.?" Anna asked breezily.

"Actually…I used to live here, this is where I grew up. Not just in Maryville, I mean – I mean this house. We gave it to a Swedish family who needed it…the Larson's? Quaint bunch," Here Anna flinched understandably, though she supposed he was still bitter for Kirsten, "I set up a medical practice over in Deerwood after teaching a couple of years."

Oh, didn't Anna know!

Although…was this not getting marginally risky…talking about something so relevant to her true identity? But John chose this moment to explain he was finished and would leave now – something wrenched on Anna's heart as he packed up his smart little black doctor's bag. _He_, John, was leaving.

Then - it was for the better, she supposed, that he would never know who he had talked with and drunk in the beauty of during that brief encounter.

***

In the end, Anna discovered that that was not all she would see of tall, dark, curly John. Her John, as she had begun to think of him. The next day, he "checked on Victor" again, and as soon as Anna Larson had seen him pass the window of Olav and Inger's house, her home, she made haste through the back door, and took the shortcut across a field, to Peter's house, arriving before John. She hurried quick excuses to her Aunt and Kirsten. Then – _Peter_, she thought. Peter! Dear Peter!

Was he not in belief that Anna would be his in a few years' time? So he was – what a mess to make of things. Anna was troubled by this a good deal until John knocked.

Things were immediately turned around when John asked to see Victor Roland. Of course…that's who he was here to see. The happiness in John's face at seeing her open the door to him again was mistaken by poor Anna for annoyance – thus, the visit fell flat.

Despite the youthful despair on Anna's part, the pair still kept a pitiful conversation going…until something came from John, who had been quiet for a while after, in a flash of realisation, he had glimpsed the diamond sparkle on Anna's left hand.

"So what lucky boy has managed to win over _you_?" questioned John aloud, almost wistfully.

Anna had been making small-talk about the weather, and this was rather sudden. Humiliation and shame swept over her like a breaking wave, and – she blushed scarlet, the worst thing when you are trying to keep a lie. To add to this, mistakenly, she took the wistfulness of John's voice as a condescending, joke-y manner.

So he did not care!

"Oh!" she choked. What a fool she had made of herself, now!

***

After reflecting back on that visit, Anna was refreshed. Kirsten's family were planning to return to Apple Blossom, after their very extended visit. So little Victor would be gone with them, too - this would all be over. No more John Stewart. No more secrets, no more 'checking on Victor'.

In time, she would marry Peter. Yes, she would! Sweetheart Peter! What a dear he was, being so patient to wait for her, Anna. Plain old Anna Larson who didn't even have the 'good God-given sense' she had used to possess.

Anna, in a moment of inspiration, grabbed her bonnet and flitted out the door, dancing across the brilliant green, dewy meadow. Her heart sang, and the birds sang with her. What a morning! The dew-drops sparkled as if they were the very souls of the long, elegant grass strands they had beaded on, joyful, merry.

The young girl laughed out loud, a triumphant, flowery sound, and pranced among the young maple trees. In a carefree way, she collapsed at the trunk of one, and closed her lids on her clear, direct blue eyes.

Unbeknownst to Anna, there were two dark, admiring eyes, gazing at her from behind one of the saplings – watching this slip of a girl, happiness glowing, making her face look ripe and beautiful. John, even though her identity was a mystery to him, was thinking about her, and her radiant, crystal clear eyes.

But right now, Anna was undisturbed by this.

And, for the meantime, she was happy.

xoxo

**A/N: Heeheehee...for the meantime ;) Please do review my work!**


	7. Resolutions

_A/N I just wanted to say a big thanks to everyone who is reviewing :D ......Enjoy!_

_***_

One unusually grey morning in July, the Roland wagon was packed up with all their belongings to leave. That rickety, wooden vehicle was barely standing; but, Kirsten Roland had often reflected, how much love it had held! Why, it was the very wagon that had brought Victor to Maryville and, though he had not known it at the time, it had brought him to Kirsten - Kirsten had travelled in it as a new bride on the eve of her wedding day – her first glimpse of Apple Blossom had been from it – Kirsten and the boys had driven it down to the Bay to meet Papa after a long voyage so many times – and so many more uncountable happenings.

The family's visit had lasted so much longer than they had expected, what with little Victor's illness and slow recovery. Poor dear Apple Blossom must be getting lonely – and untended-to. But, despite this, Kirsten was secretly glad – for their extended stay had let the young wife convince herself more and more of what she wanted to do – needed to do.

"Kirsten dearie, do what you must," had written Mrs. Georgina, "I cannot deny that us folks here have missed your presence quite terrible, but, you know what, we have got used to it in the end. Of course it would be nice to see you once in a while, and do tell that Victor of yours to drop in sometime when he's to be off on one of those shin-diggedy voyages or whatsoever they are, but otherwise don't you be minding us old Alfreds."

Kirsten had laughed over this, amongst her tears, and wrote wistfully, "Do not worry, Georgina, for you have not got rid of us for good quite yet. We will return to Apple Blossom as soon as my little boy is ready; perhaps stay quite a while yet while everything is settled. Watch for us by the dusk, Mrs. Georgina, and we will come."

***

There were many tearful farewells to be had, as Kirsten had known and had been dreading ever since Vick had begun climbing the steep hill to recovery. Steven, whom had overall, never knowing the extent his fellow-twin's fever had reached, had lately been quite peeved about the whole thing; he could not understand how the amount of attention Victor was receiving was fair at all. Inger was his only source of comfort; _she_ understood. For Inger did not know, but suspected, that something suspicious was going on around her own home; Mother had not quite been herself for a long while, now.

Eventually, after being put off and off until after lunchtime, the time came for the parting of the Roland family.

Papa and Uncle Olav were laughing jollily from a corner and wishing them a fair journey – calm, resolute Anna, who kissed them all, with a face so obviously trying to fight back tears that it was almost worse than tears themselves – Britta, all smiles and golden curls, dancing around them all like a blithe little dryad – Lars holding his daughter's hand, as Inger frowned stubbornly and refused to say good-bye – shy Peter, going about, preparing the horses and avoiding eye contact with anyone – Mama and Aunt Inger, at the last minute adding various necessities to the loaded wagon, and some not-so-essential gifts and keepsakes, mumbling warnings, for it looked like rain.

"Vi ses snart, Kirsten," said Mama, assuring her daughter that they'd see each other soon.

And, as the four of them loaded into the wagon, there was a final chorus from all of them.

"Come again soon!" - "Good evening!" - "God kväll!" - "Farvä´l! Farvä´l!"

***

"Victor, come. There's a letter, from dear little Anna!" Kirsten chorused out of the back door of Apple Blossom – for they were home again, and had been so for a good week. Even though her cousin Anna was a woman now, Kirsten couldn't resist adding that 'little' in front of her name now and then.

When the pair was settled at Apple Blossom's kitchen table, Kirsten began to read eagerly aloud, "Dear Kirsten and her family," she began, looking pointedly at her husband.

"I am happy to say we all of us here are well – besides Lisbeth, of course, but what more is to be expected? I, especially, am more than well. I must explain why, starting from the beginning…"

Here, Kirsten trailed of, and began to read silently, her sharp green eyes flying across the page.

_It all begins with John Stewart. You remember him, don't you, Kirsten? Yes, of course you do. Who could forget _him_…but nay, I am getting carried away. Well, I have no idea how to say this, but I must. The Dr. Stewart who came to check on Vick continuously wasn't any common Dr. Stewart, Kirsten, it was John. You know he was a doctor. Anyway, I failed to tell him – yes, on purpose, I know – that I was a Larson, especially Anna Larson – all he knew was Vick's full name, and I just said I was an aunt of his. I was a fool, I know – but I need to carry on. Before he came I had a certain…revelation…that revealed to myself that, truly, I have no love for Peter – not the kind he wants from me. And then – John came – he was so handsome, Kirsten, and wise – and it was _John_. That was why I was so foolish – and truly, I feel such a fool saying all of this to you, expecting you to embrace me with forgiveness. _

_Over time, I feel…he started to care for me. And then, you left, with little Vick, the patient John was using as an excuse to see me. I felt it was all over – in the end, I consoled myself with the fact that I was missing out on a lot of trouble. After convincing myself to marry Peter – oh, may the Lord forgive me for how I have treated your brother – all went back to normal. But then we met…again…and this time, he asked for my name._

_And, oh, Kirsten, what a mess to make of things! I was by now truly wretched, with convincing myself again and again it was all over, and then John popping up like this. I am blushing with shame and embarrassment as I write this._

"_John!" I sobbed, collapsing in his arms. He let me cry it out – he is so patient, you know – and then, of course, I simply had to tell him._

"_I – I am – my name is Anna. But, John – I am – Anna Larson!"_

_Well, that was a shock for sure. For a moment, his face clouded over, and I feared the worst. And – then – oh, Kirsten, I shan't repeat it, but he said a very bad thing about the Larsons. Then -_

"_So – you know Kirsten, I suppose," quietly and calmly. By now, the fire in his eyes was out, but his face was flushed with the excitement, which I have to say, Kirsten, made him look _ever_ so handsome._

_I answered that you were my cousin, and he asked if Vick was really any relation of mine. I winced as I said it, but I told him Vick was your son. For a moment, I feared he would say something nasty again – it would have been such a shame for those handsome lips of his to utter such words_ again_! John did not, though – in fact, he did something strange._

_He laughed – yes, he did! Such a merry, mocking sound it was too! And he took me by the hands, and swung me around, in the middle of the gravelled road – just like that. _

"_I don't care who this girl is! I don't even care if she is a Native American in disguise, trying to lure me into hostage with her beautiful looks! All I know is that I'm in love with her – piteously in love!"_

_And so we danced our very own dance of joy. I suppose you think us quite crazy, but Kirsten – at the time, it seemed just the right thing to do! Then we finished, and started walking up the lane – we had no idea where we were going, Kirsten, just that we were going there _together_. _

"_Anna, Anna – the name suits you" John was whispering, "It sounds like the wind prancing though the prairie – Anna, Anna. Of course I do not mind you are a Larson, darling! And I'm quite looking forward to seeing old Kirsten again. For old times' sake, you know. My, last time I would have seen _you_ you would have been merely a child. How Kirsten and I detested your group of giggling girl friends – that's one thing we agreed on, at least…"_

_And so that is the end of my story, Kirsten. I hope you will forgive me for how I have treated Peter – he seemed crushed at first, for we all know he's sensitive, but John talked him round, and he's quite happy for us, now. We will be married in four years – a long time, but, Kirsten, I'll wait as long as I have to, as long as John and my own little home is at the end. Everyone else around here has got used to it being 'John and Anna' where it before was 'Peter and Anna'. I just hope you will, too._

_***_

"Darling Anna, words cannot express how happy I am for you," Kirsten wrote. Then she shook her head, crumpled up the sheaf of paper, and dropped it into the waste-paper basket.

"My Anna, you are so beautiful, and you deserve to have love as beautiful as yourself" – that was all wrong – "Happiness suits you, so I am so glad you have it finally" – getting there….

"Hang sentimentality!" muttered Kirsten darkly. She deliberately scraped her pen viciously against the paper, as she wrote a stiff, straight-to-the point letter.

"Dear Anna, all is well with us, thank you. I am so glad to hear of your happiness, my dear. All is well on my behalf, I am very content you shall marry John. And I shall look forward to meeting John, though this time he will be your fiancé instead of mine!" – here she sensibly scratched the last sentence – "I will look forward to meeting him once more" she replaced it with. But she wouldn't! Oh, she had no feelings for John, of course, but…was it not a bit…queer?

No, no, no! John and Anna were perfect together…a good match for Anna, too. He was a doctor and would provide well for her. To add to this, he was outside of the family. When Lisbeth had married Lars, of course the Larsons had been delighted, but there would only be an income inside of the family.

But here Kirsten was, ranting about financial issues! She shook her head and laughed in spite of herself. And so finally, she picked up her pen again.

"There are no hard feelings on my side for either you and John being together nor 'the way you have treated Peter'. Peter's a sensible lad. Again, repeated congratulations, Anna – dear cousin Anna!"


	8. Peter

Just as Anna had predicted, soon the Larsons and Maryville villagers, after one month, had become accustomed to John Stewart being seen with Anna walking hand-in-hand down the street – sitting amongst the saplings in the orchard – attending merry barn dances, where they were used to it being young Peter. Everything was really back to normal, except one difference: Peter was gone.

Not just from Anna, but Maryville itself. The Rolands at Apple Blossom received a hasty letter from Lisbeth one twilight, telling them everything, and expressing the family's warnings for Kirsten to expect him, for where else would the boy go? And the next noon, there he was, on their doorstep.

No one but Anna, thought Kirsten, could cause all this hassle single-handedly. It was just like her to get engaged to her best friend and cousin, who was two years younger than her at that, only to become unsure if she loved him enough. Then her bad luck, of course, brought along a handsome, rich chap who was just right to convince her further of her falseness, and make that shallow Anna Larson want him instead – in the end breaking her best friend's heart and ruining that precious friendship.

In the end, Kirsten decided she was stretching it, despite taking pity on her brother and putting up Peter for a few weeks on the rather too small settee.

"Peter, we are brother and sister. The least we can do is talk your – situation over," she pleaded after a day of nothingness on Peter's part – it was as if he wasn't there, just a thread-bare wall-hanging in the corner.

"The Duluth sea air does me good," was his dull reply.

"I want to know why you left…we all were in the belief that you had come round enough to be happy for _them,_" Kirsten pressed, "Why did you leave?"

"Sea air does me good," insisted Peter.

_I can be stubborn, too. _Kirsten warned, calmly but sternly; "_Peter_."

_Darn it!_ the boy thought rashly. "Please,_" _he gave his sister a bored, now-isn't-the-time glance, then left the house.

Staring after Peter helplessly, Kirsten's heart sank.

***

"Anna," John Stewart smiled.

They shared a loving gaze, then started walking contentedly together alongside a happy, gurgling stream of crystal-clear water. After continuing thus for a length, John surprised the enchanted Anna by, in one quick movement, half stride, half leap, crossing the narrow brook to the other side, the smooth, faultless prairie spreading ahead of Anna and John until the horizon. Laughing shrilly in joy at how _pleasant _it was to be with him, Anna carelessly stumbled after tall John, catching her straw hat as it flew off her mount of golden hair, in protest to the gusty August breeze.

Tripping at the last moment, she breathlessly found herself in John's arms. Although she smiled sunnily up to him, it was not enough, and he took her glowing face in his steady hands and stooped down for a kiss. Anna never wanted to leave that perfect moment behind her, to live it for eternity.

***

One day, Kirsten came to a resolution. As soon as Peter returned from wherever he had been taking in the sea air this time, she would sit him down, and no matter what his attitude was, she would squeeze a confession out of him, whatever it might be. Grown man or not, Kirsten decided she was his elder sister and since she cared about him, she would sort this out once and for all. For his own good – not at all because she was immensely curious and would be unable to rest until she had been enlightened by his tale. Oh, not at all, Kirsten told herself with a secret smile.

Really, though – she loved her brother, and, perhaps the cause being something to do with the slight bump now visible on Kirsten's tummy, she was feeling quite motherly towards anyone her junior at the moment – maybe those instincts were taking toll in this case.

Later on in the afternoon, Peter was discovered slouched across the settee when Kirsten returned to the sitting room, after trying to pass her time away, vigorously scrubbing the upstairs floors. Peter sighed, a sigh which turned into a chuckle half way out.

"Yes, Kirsten, I did guess. Personally, I wouldn't waste your breath explaining-" he interjected teasingly as, shocked, she opened her mouth to argue, "Instead, I will.

"Dearest sister o' mine, if you do not realise how obvious you've been, then I have. Strutting around Apple Blossom, always keeping yourself busy – yet forgetting to _dust_ on a Thursday afternoon? Kirsten," Peter laughed as Kirsten grinned, caught red-handed.

"Sit, dear girl. All of this was needless. Though, to be fair for your sake, I will tell you whatever you want to know, I am quite open now.

"When Anna told me that she did not love me the right way anymore, it did not surprise me. Away all the time, she hadn't set eyes on me for weeks, though I watched from a distance as Mr. Stewart," – Peter made this name sound overly formal – "As he manipulated her – no, Kirsten, that is just _my_ view. I was completely reconciled, and still, yes, it was a blow. I think do I still love her, though it is not to be. But, oh, please – don't make me play the broken-hearted boy here, for I cannot stand to be pitied by anyone.

"After some time of watching her and John deeply in love, I needed a change, so I left. It is as simple as that. I left," here Peter paused for dramatic effect; no one would hesitate in saying that Peter Larson was a genius storyteller, "And decided to come and see my good old sister for a while, for her latch is always open for me.

"In definite, it is such a different environment here that it was a bit _too_ changed – as if I had been a fool and none of the Maryville business had really come about. Alas, after a while – dear me, how old fashioned that dear old word does sound – seeing you and Victor and your little family traditions, and mixing with other folks down at the bay, I realise, this is what I want. Somewhere fresh, opposite, away from the normal band of Larson life. Where I can work my own way – not farming with my Papa and Lars and Onkel Olav – they are satisfied with that way of living, that continuous routine, day after day.

"I crave something more – the sea air, a group of new people to work with, mostly. Working that out is what I've been spending my time with these days – I just don't know what to do, Kirsten. What do I do? I am used to there always being someone here to help – Mama, Aunt Inger, cousin Lisbeth, who will pet me and mother me like a child. Surely, though, I can't fall back to that this time, as it has just come into reality to me, that I am nearly eighteen, a true man.

"I just don't know if I can do this independently, now I have gotten myself into it. Jag vet inte, min Kirsten. Hjälp! I need help."

Kirsten curled her legs up onto the wooden chair she had pulled up as she had heard her brother out. Thoughtfully, she scratched her head, an old habit that she'd had as a child when she was thoroughly thinking things through. Eventually, she made an offer.

"Er – Peter? You know, Victor is a sailor, and he helps out at the docks when he isn't on a voyage. I am sure he is kind enough to be willing to help you. You are brothers after all, Peter."

Slowly and uncertainly, he admitted, "Well, yes, I suppose I did think of him. But, he is so busy, and I feel compelled by a shyness whenever I make up my mind to ask. And it is not sailing I want, Kirsten – not that much. Just work at a shipyard or on the docks, anything as simple as that, kära Kirsten. Simple – Något enkelt," Peter started explaining in Swedish, as if it would make his sister understand better.

"Oj, oj," Kirsten answered in the same language, "So I see you have your mind quite decided, then?"

Peter nodded immediately.

"You do not want help from Victor?" she murmered, astonished, so silently that it was almost to herself. Now, Kirsten brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them close, as she closed her eyes to sort out her thoughts.

They were soon disturbed in their quiet pondering by two higgledy-piggledy looking boys scampering in to their mother. Kirsten opened her mouth and began to exclaim over the state of them, though it wasn't like they weren't always the same as this.

"Mama," Vick interrupted before she could get started, "Lillian Alfred is taking a walk down to the cove and Min Alfred's going too and she says that once we get there we're going to splash in the waves and sabotage Lillian and oh, _oh_ –" here Vick paused and gasped for air, so Steven finished –

"It will be _ever_ so jolly, and _ever _so dreadful if we weren't there, because if we weren't there then we would _not _be able to come back afterwards and tell you about it and surely you want to be told!"

Kirsten smiled, generously dropped the topic of how dirty they looked, and nodded her approval.

"Tack, Mama!" they thanked her in unison – Kirsten and the Larsons had been teaching the twins to love Swedish.

On their way out of the room, they nearly bumped into their uncle, who had just risen from the settee. Steven paused politely, to greet him.

"Hej, hej, Onkel!" – but Vick impatiently pulled his brother along, hollering "Farväl!" as they left the house.

Frowning unsurely, Peter sat back down again. The frown lines on his brow deepened in confusion as Kirsten broke out in a childish, pleased grin before his eyes.

"Oh, Peter! Dear, dear,_ indeed_! Oj, oj. The most wonderful plan for you!" she gasped happily.

"And would you care to enlighten me with this most genius plan that might change my life?" exasperated Peter queried.

"The Alfreds! It came to me when Steven pleaded me to let them go with the Alfred daughters to the shore. Mr. Alfred, my good friend Georgina's husband, is a retired sailor himself – he is quite old for her, you see. To earn money for their family of six to live on, he must help out, building things in Duluth Bay Shipyard a few days of the week.

"….And his own son, Charley, is just reaching the right age to want to help out. He is about your age Peter, just as Lillian Alfred is thirteen, just like Britta. Searching for a job around here is tough, for there is but one large industry; the sailing, and work in shipyards or on docks. So it seems, every young man goes for it, so it is hard to find enough jobs to go round. Charley has been searching for a while now, but with any luck his father will find him a place for him at the big Shipyard.

"Don't you see, Peter? They can really help you out. Whilst Mr. Alfred is finding a job for Charley, he will soon find one for you, too. If there is room for him, there's room for you, Peter.

"Does that meet your standards, min Peter?"

***

Kirsten was proud to be that courageous young man's sister, when Peter, laughing and joking with Charley, returned from his first day at real work. Work!

Peter was as happy as a child with the arrangements. The 'Alfred boy' and the 'Larson boy' were put up to do odd-jobs around the Shipyard – cleaning, mending, and being an extra hand. They were being paid. Not much, but enough to please first-timers. Truly amazed, Peter wondered at this – although it was dirty, he enjoyed his work so much that he was unpractical enough to forget about the money until his first pay check arrived. Kirsten sat him down and gave him a talking-to, though.

"Use it wisely, Peter. You'll have to think about what you want to do later on in life. If you save, there could even be college on the horizon. After that, your pay checks would be so much larger, and you could even –"

"Pah, college! Money!" he said carelessly, and then he lowered his tone, "This is what I need to do now, Kirsten. Now I have it, I won't let go. Tack, nej tack."

***

_A/N: Hmmm…I do realise that Lisbeth's baby needs to come soon, it is getting to be quite a late birth if, three chapters ago, she was already unable to travel!!!! My apologies, but this chappie just wanted to be written._

_Hope you enjoyed! As always, reviews are welcome *hint hint nudge nudge* :)_


	9. Essence of a New Life

Days passed, and Apple Blossom life began to run efficiently with its new routine; soon, it was as if everything had always been as it was, there and now. One exciting evening, though, all of the residents were called together by a flushed, chilly Peter, who had met a middle-aged man who gave him a stern, inquisitive look then discretely handed him a telegram at the wooden gate. At first, the young boy had had a fright – every person with any sense knew that telegrams only brought gloomy messages.

Then, hands shaking, he opened the morbid envelope…

***

"Here, here, everyone! Come round! For you must listen to the splendid news," Peter called through the home as he slammed the front entrance closed.

"Det är från Lars och Lisbeth. Kan du gissa – oops, my apologies," biting his lip, he glanced at Victor, the only one of the four faces looking completely blank and confused instead of gleeful at the news. Carried away, the Larsons tended to slip back into Swedish without noticing the change – unless someone who could not understand was there. Peter wisely decided to rethink it and start again.

"It is from Lars and Lisbeth! Can you guess what it is about, now?"

Kirsten gasped and squealed, a girl again for that moment. Victor, realisation beaming from his dark hazel eyes, gathered Steven and Vick into his lap.

"Let us see it then, good fellow."

The short, but explanatory telegram read:

ALL

BABY GIRL BORN HEALTHY STOP MOTHER GETTING BETTER STOP YOU'LL HEAR MORE SOON STOP ADJO LARS LARSON

***

1 August, 1867

To dear sister Kirsten,

This baby is so adorable and precious to me that I only feel blessed that all is well. Lars and I are so happy. Inger was quite enough of a gift, but dear Baby is so much more. No, not more – that was wrong. Inger and Baby share equal pieces of my heart, but right now it is Baby's time for attention. It made me so perfectly content this afternoon – when my little Inger came to meet her sister – at first she wrinkled her nose at dear Baby's soft, wrinkly pink skin, which I laughed at, but then she laughed with me, and it was fine from there. Baby even smiled half a crooked smile, or we'd like to pretend it was smiling, which made my heart break. Baby looking up to Inger as Inger leaned down and some of her golden locks tickled baby's skin, making Baby squirm deliciously – oh!

Then Lars arrived, and insisted on taking a photograph on his rickety Kodak, which he had won in a bet, years ago with his college friends. Very proud, Lars is of it. He pushed the crib next to my bed, and Inger posed on the other side. I will send it _straight_ to you, I promise, as soon as it has finished developing.

But, there now – enough of my overwhelming feelings for you to listen to, and down to the facts.

"Dear Lisbeth, dear Lars, what are you going to call our little granddaughter?" your Mama, my Aunt, asked.

Well, that was the worry. For a boy, it would have been Olav, for Papa of course, and Olly for short. You see, we had thought of so many names for a girl. There were plenty of namesakes of course – Anna, Kirsten, or even after your Mama. Too many, so Lars and I decided to go for something fresh.

I adored simple, wholesome names – Rachel, Jane, for example. But Lars loved the pretty, breezy sort – just like Lisbeth, he said. I am a stubborn thing, you know. Everything he suggested I turned down. I wonder how he has the patience with me! Florence was too romantic. Christine was too modern. Lucinda too old-fashioned.

Ah dear! But when my little girl stared up at me from underneath her thick lashes, she gave me this loving, meaningful look, Kirsten. From that moment I wanted a meaningful name, even though Lars and I agreed not because there were too many namesakes in this family. Well, three, I suppose – Inger, and your sweet boys. But nothing will do for such a wretched person like me, so set on it being perfect! Oh, Kirsten, I wish you could see me smiling as much as I am now.

So, kara Kirsten, my dear, my nameless baby child continues to be my nameless baby child, until anyone can think of an answer to our puzzle.

John Stewart has left for a few days to check on his doctor's practice in Deerwood, a few miles away. He hopes that, after a few years, when he has married Anna, he will set up permanent work in Maryville, taking over old Dr. Jones' practice, if the man is so kind as to pass it on.

So that Anna would not be alone – ha! Like she would be alone, surrounded by the whole family – or at least, so that she could have some part of him stay behind, John's good sister, Mary, is staying at Mama and Papa's farm. It is the first time Mary has returned to Maryville after leaving twelve years ago, just a child. Kirsten, of course you remember Mary Stewart, don't you? You two little girls were such playmates. Of course, she is delighted to meet us again, and see that her old house – your family's house – is still really standing, not just a childhood fairytale.

She is delighted, hearing of me and Lars settling down together, and of course, hearing of you. But Mary wishes she could meet you, though I don't see how she could – you have only just returned to Duluth, after all. Please, sister, don't you go taking that as a hint. I can see, each time you visit, it is harder and harder for you to leave, though you miss Apple Blossom.

Anyway, there is always the wedding.

Kirsten. I miss you. Even if you cannot – and must not – come, please send me a letter back. I just want to hear your – well, not your voice, but you know what I mean.

Yours and 'Adjö så lä nge',

_Lisbeth_

***

As Kirsten Roland folded up her reply to her sister and shoved it swiftly into the nearby envelope, she was full of thoughts. How she needed her Maryville home! And how she needed to gather up enough courage to tell Victor, even though he had probably seen this coming! Of course, if she was going to tell her husband, she'd better do it soon. Another few days would bring the departing of Victor to another week-long trip. Kirsten had waited way too long already, as even if he consented to make his wife happy, it would be a long and lonesome time before he returned and they could get to work. The planning they would have upon them! What a jolly past time…

Of course, they would have to tell everybody – Mama and Papa, Uncle Olav and Aunt Inger, Lars and Lisbeth, John and Anna….Peter….Britta would be so excited! And little Inger would always be able to play with Kirsten's sons. They could meet the new baby so much sooner than expected. Maybe help name her! Mary Stewart, Kirsten's closest girlhood chum, excluding Singing Bird and Marta, would be pleased to reunite. Mary, Kirsten and Lisbeth could go crazy with wedding plans in the years leading up to John and Anna's marriage. What fun, if they were all to be together again.

If. If, if, if. All down to her, Kirsten. A few words and some bravery could set her world even more perfect than it was, if they deserved that. But could she really do this? Would it imply to Victor that she was not happy in the wonderful lifestyle he had worked so hard to create for their family? He would know that Kirsten did not mean that and just wanted the best for them, though. Or would he? Oh, oh, _oh! _

And the worst was that she wanted this so much. If Kirsten were not to get this at all…well. She supposed it would be understandable and she wouldn't blame Victor for staying close to his job – after all, if they made a move so far from the coast, he would be able to manage the voyages, yes, but no more extra income for the odd jobs that Victor so enjoyed helping Charley and Peter out with at their shipyard.

Suddenly, Kirsten was jolted out of dreamland by the back door slamming, and the sound of four pairs of feet in Apple Blossom's hallway. Eventually, the men entered – Victor, Peter, Charley Alfred, then an unfamiliar man who paused, hovering at the doorway.

He grunted embarrassedly, mumbling something along the lines of "Excuse me, ma'am. 'Day, Roland, Larson."

Turning to Charley more cheerily as they excused themselves and left, he boomed out in a deep voice "Alfred! So, tell me about Duluth then. The docks, the lakes, the coves! How-"

The noise faded slowly away as they walked into the sunshine and back down the sandstone path, becoming quieter, quieter, until silence descended upon Apple Blossom once more.

"Sorry about Mr. G. He's an industrial-type businessperson. Can't show his face in front of a woman, ye know?" Peter explained as he lazily collapsed into the closest chair.

"Mr. G.?" questioned Kirsten, raising her eyebrows at Victor. But it was Peter, again, who answered.

"Mr. A. Giesz. Funny, because as far as we know, he is one hundred per cent American. Mr. G. suits him more. He's a new man to Duluth, and we need to make him feel _very_ welcome - for the sake of keeping our jobs, because he is very close to the Shipyard's owner," Peter yawned, then got up, pronouncing "I'm hitting the sack, folks. Today was mighty knackering. G'night, Kirsten."

Kirsten rolled her eyes after glancing at the kitchen clock. Five o'clock was pushing it – maybe, once the aroma of tonight's fish wafted upstairs, her brother would wander down again.

It was only then that Kirsten realised that, with the twins playing in the orchard with the Alfreds and Peter napping, she and Victor were alone together. As she peeked up innocently from writing Lisbeth's name and address on the envelope, she saw, as usual, her husband picking up the _Notes_ and settling down at the table across from her. Fear sweeping over her, though she knew it was silly, Kirsten began to write each letter ever so slowly, making sure it was absolutely spot-on neat. Pausing on the _n_ in _Larson, _she chewed her pen, remembering she would laugh at her behaviour to herself later, when this conversation was over and everything was all right.

She wrote at snail-pace for a long while. When she had finished and gone over to perfection the last _a_ in _Minnesota_, nerves got the better of Kirsten. Guiltily but gratefully, she decided that it would be best to fetch Victor a steaming mug of strong, black coffee to get on his good side before the dreaded confrontation.

Perplexed, Victor was watching with one raised eyebrow – eventually, he cleared his throat. Kirsten smiled at him sweetly and pleadingly as she set down the tin mug in front of the _Notes. _

"Dear girl, get it out of your system finally, will you?" he laughed in a great, loud guffaw. Try hard as Victor Roland might, but he couldn't halt that laugh when he had the mind to start it, even in the most unlikely of situations.

"Oh, Victor, of course _you knew_!" laughed Kirsten, at the last straw.

"Yes, I knew you had something, probably large, on your mind," Victor frowned, "But no, I did not know what it happened to be."

"Oh. Ugh."

"You can tell me anything, Kirsten, anytime. I love you. Just get this off your shoulders. For me, lassie."

"Fine – are you happy here, Vick, at Apple Blossom, in Duluth?"

"Why, yes," Victor answered hesitantly.

"So am I, of course. Are you happy with my family when we visit in Maryville, dear?"

"Why, yes."

"Oh, Victor – this is it. My parents – my aunt and uncle – my brothers and sister, and cousins, and niece…_nieces_ –" choked Kirsten, "They love me so dearly. I – I _need _them, darling. And, possibly, I might even be able to say that they need us, too. Stevie and Vickie, our sons… I want them to grow up with all the ones we love most around them – the way I grew up in Sweden, and eventually, the way I grew up in Minnesota.

"Also," she smiled, tenderly brushing her white hand to her round middle, "This one, too. I want the best for them all. You, dear, too. We need this, I know. Not just to be with, however I care for them, the family I cook for, all the time. Our life is magical, Victor, but it could be even more so…

"Don't let's be practical, Victor, mine, and do something irrational for once. Something so joyfully irrational?"


End file.
